Maybe
by officialburritos
Summary: Sansa wakes to find herself back in Winterfell... the day the King is due to arrive. Can she hope to change the future events and save her family from their terrible fate? Written after the conclusion of Season 6.
1. Chapter 1

The light hit her first, then the warmth. The warmth of summer… how could that be? As her eyes became adjusted to the light, the room came into focus, and while it was the same room that she fell asleep in, it had changed. The stone walls were illuminated by the intense stream of sunlight entering through the window, and despite said window being wide open, the room was warm in comparison to the bitter winds of recent times. Funny, she could not recall opening the window, nor would she, now winter had officially arrived. A knock at the door silenced her thoughts, "Lady Sansa, Miss, it's about time you got up", a voice spoke, and the door opened slowly, revealing a handmaiden. Wait…her handmaiden, Missri, her handmaiden when she was a child, back before- well, before everything. She could not believe it, after all this time, she looked not a day changed. But why was she here? She had not had a handmaiden in some time now, nor did she particularly see the need anymore, these are times of war, she could happily make do on her own.

"Let me help you with your hair Lady Sansa Miss,", Missri spoke walking towards her. Quickly Sansa jumped out of bed, "No, no, no, it's quite alright, I can manage on my own, but thank you." Her handmaiden's somewhat puzzled, even shocked expression surprised her, she had been managing fine on her own for years, however, recalling her younger self, she had been slightly too proper, and maybe a little vain too, and had consequently always been uptight with her handmaidens, Missri included. "Very well Miss", curtseying before she turned around and left, closing the door gently behind herself.

Perhaps it was Jon's doing, seeking out her old handmaiden for her, to make her more comfortable, to satisfy her stupid desires to be lady-like and constantly perfect, or to remind her of her past life? She could not decide whether to be grateful or angry with him for doing so. Any which way, Missri was right, it was time she went to break her fast, for no doubt plans on what they were going to do next were to be discussed in the morning, and she was determined to be a part of them, if she was wanted there or not.

However, as she sat down in front of her mirror something was wrong… her reflection, instead of being of a young woman with a thin narrow face and long red hair, was of a child. She looked down at her body and saw that of a child. Her hair only just went past her shoulders, her skin was porcelain, and where scars used to remain on her body it was clear and unharmed.

What… How in seven hells…

Then it all made sense. The room, the feeling of summer, Missri… this was her past, a memory, a dream. One of the strangest of dreams, it feels so real, but perhaps too good. Her body too fresh, and the air too warm, she should have known. Yet her dreams of late have been never so good, consistently of Joffery, of Littlefinger, or even worse, of Ramsey. Yet this is good, she is in Winterfell, but not as it is now, a ruin tainting her childhood memories with horrific ones of her marriage, but how it used to be: a place of joy and comfort, a place of warmth despite the underlying chill of the North. It feels too real… but is can't possibly not be a dream, right?

Entering the hall, Sansa could see her family sat along the table located at the top of the room. She was rendered speechless. The sight of her family, even in this dream, was too much to bear. Her Lord father, Eddard Stark, how long it had been since she had looked upon his face, sat in the centre, with her mother at his side, and Robb at his other. From what she could see both Bran and Rickon sat across from them, but as she entered the room none of them saw her. As she made her way closer, the conversation became audible, "…a great knight, he is, isn't he father! He killed Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon, in single combat." Bran spoke, father eating in silence, staring at his food. "Sansa, my dear, we were getting worried with you up so late." Catelyn interrupted, her eyes full of concern as she glanced up at Sansa. Just the sound of her mother's voice made her eyes fill with tears, for it was too painful, only reminding her of everything she has lost. "Oh my dear, Sansa you are not ill are you? That cannot do, for you know the King is said to be arriving today". The King? What is this? For sure she believed that this dream was much like heaven, a chance to see her loved ones. Why then was she then reliving her past? This is not a dream…

"The King?" She replied in question. "Yes Sansa my dear, goodness! The King and the Queen and their whole party is on their way to Winterfell, you have known this for nearly a month. What has happened to you? This is all you have been talking about, I thought you were excited to see the royal prince!" The prince? Joffery… Of course, what an idiot she had been. A naïve, stupid, blind idiot. Her prince is shinning armour. Long ago however, had she stopped believing in songs. Stopped believing in a happily ever after, and a knight coming to save her. Yet here she stood, supposedly reliving her life, if that is even what was happening, and if indeed that was what was happening, she could change it. Maybe she could stop the whole thing before it even happens. Maybe she could save them, save her father, her mother and Robb, save Rickon and Arya. Even save Bran and Jon from their unpleasant fates. Save herself…

Maybe…


	2. Chapter 2

Upon returning to her chamber, Sansa was greeted by someone she believed she would never see again. Lady was smaller then when she had last seen her, the direwolf no bigger then a small dog, as she played with the others. However, to Sansa, her presence meant more to her then imaginable, bending down to pet her, "How I've missed you Lady!", the direwolf winning in response. "Ghost? Ghost? Where is seven hells?" Looking up Sansa saw Jon approaching, clearly looking for the albino wolf who was amongst the others. "Oh, I apologise Sansa, I thought you would be with Jeyne Poole or Septa Mordane" Jon said, turning, clearly egger to get away. Goodness, how terrible she must have been to him when they were younger, how selfish and hateful she must have been for him to practically cower to get away from her, for, to this younger Jon she had never apologised for how badly she had treated him. "No, no, it's fine Jon, I just haven't seen Lady all day", "Oh right" he replied quietly, before turning and walking back the way he came, Ghost in toe. "Jon?" she asked, the sound stopping him in his tracks. As he turned, the expression on his face was one of surprise, probably due to her even directly addressing him at all, yet, she now realised how young he looked. For what was only a few hours before, Sansa had seen Jon; he was battle worn in his old age, his eyes constantly tired and filled with worry, and his death and resurrection had only amplified his brooding personality. But here he stood, his hair short and his face clean shaven, and she could see how much the wall had changed him. "I'm sorry", she said, attempting to put all her regret of those many years into those two words. "What for Sansa?" he questioned

"For everything".

Lining up with her family she noted Jon's and Theon's presence behind them. Noticing her glancing over, Jon offered her a small but rare smile, to which she reciplicated. But looking properly at Theon for the first time, she also saw how different he was too, in comparison to his older self. It was not necessarily his physical appearance that had changed much, although he was much cleaner then when she last saw him, but it was his mannerism. Opposed to cowering and shrinking into his own shadow, Theon held him self with confidence, almost arrogance, reminding her of how he used to be somewhat narcissistic before his encounter with Ramsey.

"Where's Arya? Sansa where's your sister?" Catelyn questioned. Arya. she had not seen her. She had not seen her in years. Sansa had lost count of the times she had regretted her poor relationship with her sister. Lost count of the times she had recalled all their stupid petty arguments, particularly the one over the incident with Nymeria and Joffery, and wished that she could undo them all.

At Arya bounding up to the line in her usual manor, wearing a helmet, Sansa could not help but smile. "Hey, what are you doing with that on?" Father asked, removing the helmet. Seeing her sister for the first time Sansa could not help but feel the need to hug her, to tell her she was sorry for constantly arguing with her, but this desire was interrupted by the loud clattering of horses' hooves.

The king's arrival was much like it was the first time. Although, this time around she saw behind the shallow smiles and falsities of Cerci Lanister, and the supposed handsomeness of Joffery, only to see the hideous people they really are. This time however, she noticed others in their company: Meryn Trant, a member of the Kingsguard, who repeatedly beat her under Joffery's orders, Sandor Clegane, one of the few people in King's Landing she could say protected her, and Tommen Baratheon, the future King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector or the Realm, nothing more then an innocent little boy. She remembered how the fist time around she had marveled and idolised the Prince and Queen upon their looks, yet had been repulsed by that of the Hound, although now it was almost the complete opposite. How deceiving looks can be to a naïve little girl, she thought.

Unlike last time, she now had a real purpose, to stop the events unfolding that led to her father's death, and hence everything afterwards. To do this she needs to prevent him, along with herself and Arya, going to Kings Landing. She recalled that last time her father took a few days to accept the position of Hand, that therefore gave her a little time, but she also needed to prevent other events. Bran's crippling for instance, along with her betrothal with Joffery.

As the King descended from his horse, after several attempts and with great effort, he approached the welcome party, and they rose on his command. The trivial jokes between her father and Robert once again reminded her of what a pathetic excuse Robert had been for a King, but then again, a far superior one then Joffery in her books.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya asked her. Tyrian Lanister, now she had not seen him in a while either. Last she heard he had escaped imprisonment for Joffery's murder and sailed across the narrow sea, to do what, she did not know. Technically their marriage had never ended, although arguably it never really began. Yet now, after all she had been through, after all the suffering at the hands of Ramsey, she had a new found respect, even likening for the man. For he was one of the few who were kind to her while at King's Landing, and despite his reputation, never once forced her to perform her marital duty, and for that she was eternally grateful. She had always felt somewhat guilty for leaving him at the Purple Wedding, leaving him to be charged with a crime she knew he was innocent of, and was secretly slightly relieved upon hearing of his escape.

The crowds soon began to disperse once the King and her father walked off to the crypts, and Sansa found herself following her sister, suspiciously in the direction of the training yard. For that was one relationship she could not wait to amend.


End file.
